loose threads
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Jo McCrory is a writer and artist living in northern California.
Category: Poetry
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The first of September arrived in a jacketbringing the first drops of rain we’d seen in monthsWe made coffee and dragged our quilt to the porch,listened to the rain, to each other’s breathingA moment in time, frozen-rjm
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Fall – not winter, not spring, not summer -Fallwet leavescopper cold on my skinthe smell of damp earth, comfortingrain falling in drizzling sheetstoes are cold, socks soaked throughSomeone’s chimney puffs out smoke, which hangs lowand makes the rain smell like smoldering woodAir, coldrainwet leaves, copper underfootYou take my handand lead me home-rjm
loose threads 